"Do not underestimate my intelligence, I understand you," he laughed. "It is a fortunate thing for me that you are not a secret agent. My occupation would be gone."
"It is a villainous occupation."
"Why?"
"Because no secret agent can be himself. It's rather a pity, because I'd like to like you."
"And don't you—a little?"
"I might if I thought that I could believe in you. If a man is not true to himself, he cannot be true to those that wish to be his friends."
He was silent for a moment.
"I think perhaps," he said quietly at last, "that you do me an injustice. I am merely the servant of my government——"
"Which, stops at no means—even death."
"I too look death in the face, Countess," he said with a slow smile. "It lurks in every byway—hangs in every bush."